Obsession
by kangeiko
Summary: Despite wanting to punch Bester's face in, Garibaldi doesn't make an appearance during 'The Corps is Mother...'. Why? Written several years ago. Uploaded now.
1. Finding the Orphans

OBSESSION  
  
Disclaimer: I happen to own the entire universe in perpetuity. However, JMS  
and Warner Bros. own this little corner of it. All used without permission,  
no money made, blah blah blah blah legal jargon.  
Rating: R for themes and naughty language.  
Summary: Filler-fic for 'The Corps is Mother...' Why was Garibaldi was so eager to see Bester the previous times he was on board and he didn't even turn up to glower over him once in this ep?

Comments: written several years ago. Uploaded now.

* * *

CHAPTER 1: FINDING THE ORPHANS 

* * *

Bester was on the station.  
  
That much was certain in Garibaldi's mind. Something dark and controlled was on the station, dark enough to yank him out of sleep, and controlled enough to have him reach for his PPG. Almost without any conscious thought, Garibaldi dragged himself out of bed, yanking on a robe hurriedly over suddenly cold skin. There was something twisting in his stomach - just like his time under Bester's control, only it tasted metallic, now. Salty and sharp, like spilled blood.  
  
He left his PPG on the bedside table, next to his undrunk glass of whiskey.  
  
_Where would he be?_  
  
Well, he couldn't kill him, he'd figured that much out. He'd had to pay for the ruined Comm out of his own money, and at the moment that money was more than a little scarce. Well, he'd just have to make sure that no Comm units got in the way when he did.... whatever it is he was going to do.  
  
He was halfway down the corridor when he realised that he'd forgotten to actually get dressed. Well, it was too late now to go back and yank on anything further; his slacks, left on from the night before, would have to do. They'd been teamed with his heavy robe, after all. He could claim that it was an offworld fashion.  
  
The Zocalo hit him somewhere south of his left lung and left him gasping for breath. Strange that a former Security Chief should be so susceptible to a panic attack..... but it wasn't that. There was a craving he couldn't quite identify gnawing at the walls of his stomach, forcing the bile up into his throat. It was the gag reflex in reverse, as he tried not to choke on the nothingness forcing its way up into his mouth. _Jesus...._ The world spun.  
  
And abruptly righted itself again.  
  
Bester.  
  
Walking down the Zocalo, a Psi Creep on each side. One girl, one boy, both fresh out of diapers and with "Love the Corps!" stamped on their foreheads. Great, just great.  
  
Garibaldi needed to leave now. He needed to go back to his quarters and  
destroy something, picturing Bester's face. _Because that would be  
therapeutic._  
  
And the bastard, snake that he was, turned to look at him in that moment,  
refusing to let him leave. _He knows I'm here, Jesus, he was probably the reason I woke up --_ the thought made him gag again, a painful gasp swiftly turning into laughter because _he's got something on me. The bastard's got something in my head, he's still here damnit, why did I think he'd let go that easily?_  
  
That had to be it, didn't it? The most reasonable explanation. Bester was still in his head, doing whatever it is that Psi Creeps do to brains they've already made Swiss cheese of. That was why he'd woken up inexplicably during the night, wasn't it? He wasn't a teep. How the hell had he known that Bester was on the station if the psi cop hadn't wanted him to know?  
  
_Hands itch._ They curled into fists.  
  
And, abruptly, he was within hitting distance. The boy-teep's eyes were wide with alarm and he stepped forward, imposing his body between that of Bester and Garibaldi. He was brushed aside, almost carelessly, in a move that wasn't quite violent but almost absentminded. The girl-teep, obviously curious, just rocked back on her heels and watched, a calculating look on her face.  
  
_Hands itch hands itch hands itch_ Break the nose first, then follow through with the jaw. If he was lucky, some bone fragments would be driven up into that brain and Bester would be dead, and it would all end here, in the Zocalo crowd.  
  
Except that he was close now, too close, too close to hit. He didn't have room to draw back his arm and punch, and he couldn't even if he wanted to, wasn't that true? Impotent laughter choked him, but that was all right, because he wasn't retching.  
  
He was almost touching the Psi-Cop, moving forwards more by momentum than by any coherent thought. Closer, closer, breaching Bester's personal space to stare down into wide eyes, startled and amused.  
  
"Can I help you, Mister Garibaldi?" And laughter in his mind, cut off abruptly as realisation dawned for him. Not for Garibaldi, for him.  
  
_Get out of my mind!_ Pull back his arm and punch it, that's all it'd take, at this distance he could take the bastard's head off --  
  
_I'm not in your mind._ There wasn't any amusement there anymore, just perplexity, sweeping over him as he stepped back and the feeling of nausea returned. _Go._ The thought was followed by an imperceptible command, an urge to go, flee, get away.  
  
The feeling of nausea returned. _Feels like a skydive._ He stumbled back, eyes wide and hands clenching and unclenching.  
  
_Go._  
  
_Jesus..._ What was he doing here? Without a word, he spun smartly on his heel and left, ignoring the gnawing ache and dizziness that increased with each step.  
  
As the boy prattled on and girl ignored him to whisper notes into her personal log, Bester watched Garibaldi disappear into the crowd. The former security chief swayed slightly, as if the world had suddenly been pulled out from under him, and grabbed onto the nearest person as support. They helped him to a 'lift. He refused to look back.  
  
Bester's face creased into a frown. 

* * *

"What did you do to him?"  
  
"Nothing that didn't need to be done."  
  
"Jason...."  
  
"Don't 'Jason' me, Al. I knew you wouldn't go through with that last part - you're too squeamish for that - so I saved you the bother. He'll be fine once he gets used to it."  
  
sigh "You don't understand..."  
  
"Understand what?"  
  
pause "Never mind. It's nothing."  
  
cough "Al, I really hope you're not telling me what I think you're telling me..."  
  
"Well, that would depend on what you think I'm telling you, really, wouldn't it?"  
  
sigh "You're incorrigible, you know that? Anyone else'd pull a stunt like this, they'd have their heads shot off. I take it you at least took precautions?"  
  
"I'm not stupid. But I'll be damned if I know what your little stunt's done to my programming."  
  
"It wouldn't have done much to an Asimov, I shouldn't think. I mean, we can always use a friend to Psi Corps --"  
  
silence  
  
"Al?"  
  
sigh "I slapped an Asimov on him, all right. But I modified it: just blocked at the point of action."  
  
"Al --"  
  
"He can think about it as much as he likes, but --"  
  
choke "You stupid fuck!"  
  
"Thanks so much. It would have worked fine if you hadn't meddled!"  
  
"Yeah, let's blame me for following procedure! What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
"God knows."  
  
"Jesus......"  
  
pause "I'm gonna go."  
  
"Straighten this out."  
  
"I don't have much choice, do I, Jase? Shit. I'll call you later."  
  
"Damn well better." pause "Luck."  
  
END COMMUNICATION  
  
whisper "I'll need it."  
  
Bester leaned back in his chair, his right hand clenching into a fist. _Damn you, Jason. Damn you and your 'favours'._

* * *

End Chapter I


	2. Clues

CHAPTER 2: CLUES 

* * *

_What the hell's wrong with me?_  
  
The boy-teep was dead, Zack had informed him. The rogue had taken him out, and would probably take out the girl-teep too, if she didn't stick close to Bester. Marching into the lion's den, strange that the only safe place those kids had was by the snake's side.  
  
_The enemy of my enemy is my friend._  
  
And Bester was their enemy's enemy. Not that they had much choice, that much was painfully obvious. _Once Corps, always Corps._  
  
Didn't that include him, though?  
  
Garibaldi rolled over on his back, staring up blankly into the darkened ceiling. No hope of sleep now. Bester and the girl were busy with the rogue; Zack had helped him track him down. There would probably be a firefight.....  
  
His eyes closed, trying to picture the scene. Yes, Bester would talk to the rogue. Tell him that it would be all right. That the Corps wouldn't hurt him. The rogue would lash out --  
  
His eyes screwed up tight. The rogue would lash out and Bester --  
  
Bester --  
  
Bester would probably allow himself to be hit. He'd let himself be hit so that they could take down the rogue with the minimum of damage. Amazing how these double standards were. The psi cop would allow himself to be nearly killed before striking out at another telepath, but he wouldn't hesitate to gun down a 'mundane' in cold blood.  
  
The thought was ice seeping through Garibaldi's veins. _Why the hell am I still alive, then?_  
  
Punishment? Maybe a experiment, like Procrustes. Tie down the unwary traveller to your bed and chop him to fit. Stretch him to fit. Change him and mould him until he's in your image just for the hell of it. _What the hell has that bastard been doing to me?_ How would he know, anyway? If you were sleeping on Procrustes' bed and woke up changed, how would you know that you didn't dream your life before? That the 'you' you thought you were was just imagined? That you weren't always like this --  
  
The ceiling laughed down at him scornfully, twisting the light refracted through the windows into a kaleidoscope of silence. _Kaleidoscope of silence? What the hell does that mean, Michael? Are you on something?_  
  
He was on something. Yep. He was--  
  
Not thinking this. _Hello?_  
  
_Hi. Can I come in?_  
  
What the -- _Bester?!_ His head snapped around and he glared at the closed door as if it hid unimaginable horrors.  
  
Amusement peppered a twisting yellow path. Trust Bester to come up with a yellow brick road. _Who else would be waiting outside your door in the middle of the night?_  
  
True.  
  
Then - danger blasted through in the form of a tornado, destroying the road, leaving gaping holes in the buildings around. _Ready to see the Wizard, Michael?_  
  
_What the -- Why are you here?_ His hands itched again. The nausea returned with a vengeance, making the world spin dangerously. Garibaldi grabbed onto the only steady thing within reach - himself. His fingernails bit into the soft skin at his waist, reaching just behind that to the junction between waist the small of his back. Small crescents of pain spiralled their way into him, serving as a focal point for his disorientation. And _what the hell are you doing to me --_ he choked on the word, _again?_  
  
The amusement faded, replaced by something he couldn't quite understand. The yellow brick road was suddenly overgrown with weeds, turning into a deserted path from neglect. Brambles and tall nettles barred his way and the shadows laughed at his confusion. _I'm not. Let me in._  
  
_I --_ The nettles stung his legs and feet, and suddenly he was barefoot on the road, staring at the impossibility of the task. _I can't --_  
  
_Now._  
  
A brief battle ensued, over before it had even begun. "Enter," Garibaldi's voice box instructed, without any input from its owner. The door slid open and harsh light shafted through the skewed opening. A solitary figure stood in the doorway, bathed by the light. His face was hidden by shadow, but Michael could still see the smile there.  
  
He tried to reach for his PPG.  
  
_You can't hurt me. I told you. You can try --_  
  
And Garibaldi did, desperately trying to convince unwilling fingers to uncurl from their hold on his sides to grab his weapon, to kill the personification of his nightmares. The world chose that moment to drop out from under him and take his stomach along for the ride. Michael hit the ground hard and pressed his fist against his mouth, trying not to retch. He didn't even notice the psi cop draw nearer, didn't even notice his presence just behind him. Splayed out on his belly on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, the skin on his back prickling with cold and anticipation.  
  
_Better?_  
  
A gloved hand dropped hesitantly on his shoulder, hardly even touching him. Bester was kneeling beside him, the analytical part of Garibaldi's mind deduced, his hand on his shoulder. His hand his shoulder, stroking away the urge to throw up, to bury his head under the pillow and scream out loud, to --  
  
_Get away!_  
  
He yanked away from the dreaded touch, startled that it didn't follow him. His back pressed against the edge of the bed and he drew his knees up against his chest in as effective a defence as he was able to muster. Which, he had to be frank, wasn't much. His PPG was nowhere in sight.  
  
Bester remained half-kneeling on the floor in front of him, one eyebrow raised. _I'll leave if you like._  
  
_Yes!_ He half-gasped, hating himself for the desperation there, hating himself for the weakness it showed. _Broken, worthless, scared --_  
  
_No._ Bester inclined his head to one side. _No. Not your fault. Not this time - and not before. I said that, didn't I?_ There was a slight hesitation there, as if the psi cop was trying to remember whether he had said it... or whether Garibaldi just wasn't inclined to believe him.  
  
_I let you!_ It was an anguished howl, and he felt the urge to lash out, to hit something, to make the world understand how much it hurt --  
  
Bester's face was curiously blank as he studied his erstwhile victim. Just who's mind were they in, now, anyway?  
  
_I let you do that to me!_ And that was what hurt the most, wasn't it? The utter helplessness. Garibaldi fought the urge to reach out a hand and just squeeze. _Why are you here?!_  
  
Bester licked his lips. Any other time, it would have been a derisive gesture, perhaps even a frightening one, coming as it did from a snake with eyes so curiously guileless. But not now. _You didn't have any choice in the matter. And this was a mistake on our part. Not your fault, but it'll have to be fixed before...._ He trailed off, his mindvoice sounding almost angry. Not with Garibaldi. Bester had never been angry with him - always controlled, dark, frightening, but never angry. _I brought you something._  
  
And then the snake was uncoiling, standing up and turning away, leaving him sitting half-naked on the floor, his knees drawn up against his chest in the manner of a frightened child while darkness enveloped the room once again. Garibaldi heard one last thought before Bester left -  
  
_I'm giving you a choice, now. Not much of one, but a choice nonetheless._  
  
Then there was silence.  
  
It took Michael almost an hour to pluck up the courage to turn the lights on and stare, amazed, at the bottle of whiskey Bester had left for him in the middle of the bedroom floor. 

* * *

End Chapter II


	3. In the Harsh Light of Day

CHAPTER 3: IN THE HARSH LIGHT OF DAY

* * *

"I spoke to him."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And what? He's a mess, Jase."  
  
"Couldn't you --"  
  
"No."  
  
"Alfred --"  
  
"I said no."  
  
"Jesus, why the fuck not? It'd be easier on everyone - including him! - that way --"  
  
"It's baggage. I'm not gonna. I need another solution."  
  
pause "What did you do?"  
  
silence  
  
"Al? What did you do to him?"  
  
"Something to help him wean. It's a substitute." smile "It was the least I could do."  
  
pause "You're a sentimental idiot, anyone ever tell you that?"  
  
"Frequently. Usually it's you. I don't let it worry me."  
  
"Uhuh. I take it you'll be staying on the station for longer than expected?"  
  
"Why would you think that? I said I gave him a substitute. I also gave him a choice."  
  
pause "I take it all back. You're a cold-hearted, calculating motherfucker."  
  
laughs "Thanks Jase. I feel so much better about my place in the universe."  
  
"Whatever. Just don't drag this into official Corps business --"  
  
sigh "I'd comment on that, but I'll refrain myself. Can you take the kid off my hands?"  
  
"Who, Lauren? She was a gift."  
  
wry smile "I guessed that much. I don't want her."  
  
frown "You want something different? We don't operate gift exchanges, Al."  
  
"I didn't say I wanted something different, I said I didn't want her, full stop. Take her back to whoever's trying to cosy up with me."  
  
grin "Okay. Mind if I keep her for a while?"  
  
waves hand dismissively "Whatever you want Jase. I'll see you once I get back."  
  
"Take care. Don't get into too much trouble, huh, Al?"  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
END COMMUNICATION

* * *

End Chapter III


	4. Decisions

* * *

CHAPTER 4: DECISIONS

* * *

Bester left Babylon 5 without so much a look back. At his side, the girl - Lauren - stayed silent, looking at him as if he would be her next meal. _Praying mantis._ If she had her way, he would be. _Black widow_. He knew her type. Sweet, innocent little Lauren. Probably with more muscle in the scheming department than the top ranks of Psi Corps combined. _Not that that is especially hard._

_Okay, new topic._

He climbed into the ship and waited for her to climb up after him before he closed the door. Then it was a matter of routine - strap on the seat belt, signal the station that they were ready to depart and ward off Lauren's advances before setting off. Wait and wait and wait until she finally offered to 'take care' of the mundane. 

_Good thing she did. Jase wouldn't have been pleased if I'd had to space her._

Idle thoughts. He wouldn't have done that, but he was free to think it - wasn't he? - to let her hear him think it and keep her silent through fear. 

There was a prickling just outside his mind, like someone gingerly poking deadened flesh to check for a reaction. _Hello Lauren. Been listening long?_

A pause, while she smiled ineffectually at him and then let her little-girl mask drop. _Long enough. I heard some.... interesting things, sir._ A smirk hovered over her lips. _Praying mantis?_

_A compliment, my dear, never doubt it for a second._ It was clear sailing, in a manner of speaking, from here on. He set the autopilot and relaxed back in his seat. _What else did you expect?_

_I don't know,_ she answered honestly, and he snorted. 

_Yeah. Well, you got what you wanted._

_Maybe. I'd like to know more, though. I spaced the mundane, and you didn't blink._

_Yes?_

_What about --_

He frowned and cut her off. _No_. 

She didn't even attempt to breach the subject again, and just let a slow smile spread over her face, settling back in her chair. They spent the rest of the trip in locked in their respective minds. 

* * *

A loud rap on his door roused Jason from his slumber. _Huh? Sounds like a hack writer's narrating my head._ He yanked on a robe hurriedly and answered the door. "Hey, Al." Standing in the lamp light on the steps of the house, Bester blinked at him once before lowering his clenched hand from where it had been about to hit Jason on the nose.

"Jase. You're home." 

Jason blinked at him and ran a hand through sandy hair. "Uhuh. You normally hammer on people's doors when they're not at home?" 

"More often than not. Can I come in?" 

Jason shrugged and waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. Bester took that as a yes and brushed past him, heading straight for Jason's sofa and making himself comfortable. He eyed Jason critically. "You planning on putting some pants on anytime soon, or do I assume that we're closer than I thought?" 

Jason blinked at him, startled. _Wha-- Oh. Yeah, sorry._ Embarrassment coloured his thoughts a rosy pink. _I shoulda checked if it was you, yeah?_ He headed for the bedroom to reclaim the soft slacks he'd tossed to the side the previous evening. A quick check of his watch informed that it was four in the morning. Obviously, Bester was still running on station time. Or Mars time. Or probably some weird combination. _Or maybe he wants me half asleep_. 

_Nope. If I wanted you off-guard, I would have brought the praying mantis girl with me._ Bester called out to him. 

On Jason's return to the living room, he found the psi cop fidgeting and staring with disbelief at the open curtains. 

_I take it the concept of privacy and modesty wasn't covered in your training course?_

Jason sat down opposite him and smirked. _No one here's fool enough to spy on me, Al. Keep your enemies closer, that sort of thing. You want a coffee?_

_Kill for one, thanks._ At Jason's singular lack of movement, Bester grinned and headed for the kitchen to make the coffee. _No one else would get away with this, you realise. I'd nail them to the wall._

_Naaah, you're a teddy bear,_ Jason drew his feet up under him and reclined in his armchair. God, he was tired. 4am conversations didn't agree with him. _With fangs, it has to be admitted, but a teddy bear none the less._

_Uhuh. You want the rundown?_

Jason closed his eyes. _Yeah. Why don't you give me the rundown. Then I can toss your ass in the unofficial clink._

Bester stuck his head around the door. Dark eyes sparkled knowingly. _Ah, but who else would put up with your sense of humour? _

"Don't push it, Al," Jason warned quietly, reaching out for his cup of coffee. Whatever his faults, Bester could make a great cup of coffee. The heat of the liquid seeped through the thin china and warmed his cold hands. He fought the urge to curl his entire body around the cup. 

Bester watched him, amused, and sat back down on the sofa. Yo_u're like a cat. All 'purr' and -- _

_And what? You here for cute images?_

The dark smile faded. _Garibaldi's pretty bad. _

_That's to be expected._ Jason inclined his head to one side, as if sizing up his companion. _You sure that you're personal involvement isn't clouding the issue?_

_How, exactly? He's a mundane. End of story. But he'll figure it out eventually...._ A frown surfaced, quickly suppressed in favour of a neutral expression, mirrored in his mindvoice. Bester was worried. 

_Will he?_ Jason's mindvoice was sharp and sly, slipping past Bester's defences. Dark eyes met blue ones and blinked, dazed. Obviously, this hadn't occurred to him. _On his own, I seriously doubt it, Al. He's got nothing to go on, remember? This isn't exactly catalogued in any journals or reports._

Bester's worried frown returned. _He's a good - I mean, he was a good Security Chief. He knew in what direction to go. And he has Lyta._

Jason snorted, derision written over his heavily tanned face. _Yeah. Lyta. Who's a plastic thingy short of a six-pack._

Bester stared at him, his jaw dropping in mock shock. _A plastic thingy? Uh - never mind. I don't want to know. Besides, gone or not, he'll trust her up to a point._

Jason fished in the drawer tucked underneath the nearby coffee table. He found a packet of cigarettes - an unfortunate vice, but one he had taken up when he had been in questionable company and hadn't been able to relinquish - and quickly lit up, oblivious to Bester's disgusted look. Exhaling smoke, he offered the packet to his fellow psi cop. _And that point is?_

Bester shook his head. _No thanks. Can't stand the stuff myself. Psi Corps._

_Huh?_

_I said the point is Psi Corps. If Lyta tells him that Psi Corps has messed with him some more, he's gonna do whatever he can to get to the bottom of it._

Jason shrugged and flicked ash with the tip of his finger. _Al - uh, I don't mean to be rude, but why the hell does any of this matter? He can't do anything if you implanted the Asimov correctly, and I know you did. The only reason for you to be freaking out over this is if you're having some major moral crisis --_ He raises an eyebrow. _You're not having a major moral crisis I should know about, are you Al?_

Quicksilver laughed rippled through him. _Hardly. Not allowed in this line of work, remember? I'm just worried about what this will mean when he figures it out -- _

He couldn't resist. _He starts to follow you around with a dopey expression on his face?_ He projected an image of Bester leading the esteemed Mr Garibaldi about on a leash, Garibaldi blue eyes crossed and his tongue hanging out. 

That didn't even draw a smile. _Don't._

_Don't what?_ He stubbed out his cigarette and stood, stretching. Bester watched him with hooded eyes. Jason dropped down next to him on the couch. _Don't what, Al? What the hell's the matter with you?_ He reached out a bare hand, letting it drop carefully on the sleeve of Bester's uniform jacket. _You've been jumpy as hell these last few months. Are you regretting you let him go? We can --_

_No._ Bester yanked his arm away and twisted to face him, eyes hard. _No. I don't want that manufactured personality back, Jase. That's the whole point. If I did, I would have done this last bit myself. Why do you think I didn't huh? That I suddenly took pity?_

Jason shrugged fluidly and leaned back, his expression calculating. _Then why let him go? It's not policy. Either keep him under or kill him. Not let him have his life back, for Christ's sake! What if he talks?_ His mouth twisted down in a worried frown. _I'm worried about you Al, seriously. This is sloppy --_

_It's closure,_ Bester corrected quietly. He pulled away completely and stood up, pacing restlessly in the small room. _You want a straight answer? I was never going to keep him around. Baggage. Always checking up on him, always making sure the blocks were in place. Useless baggage when he'd served his purpose. So I let him go._

_You could have killed him. _

_Messy. To have to kill someone just means showing the world that you've run out of creative options._

Jason laughed out loud. "Jesus Al. You watch too many old movies, you know that?" He fumbled with the lighter and the cigarette, sighing when he inhaled the strong substance again. _You wanna know what I think? _

_Not really. But I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway._

Wryness. _You know me too well. I think he reminds you of you._

Bester blinked. _Say again, Jase, I think you've lost your mind._ He gave up pacing and leaned back against the mantelpiece, his arms folded over his chest. His uniform jacket wrinkled angrily over his chest and he winced as it dug into his injured shoulder. 

_Careful. I don't want you bleeding all over my new carpet. And - never mind. If you don't want to hear it, you don't want to hear it. It's all in the past anyway. Can't be undone - and you've made it clear you don't want things corrected._ Jason rubbed a solitary finger along the bridge of his nose. A headache was starting to blossom, and knowing Al it would just get worse unless he capitulated quickly. _What now?_ He asked tiredly. 

Bester let his head fall back to rest against the wall. _Now I fix him. _

_That easy, huh? _

_Not quite. But it's gotta be done. _

_Why? Why not just leave things as they are? _

A quick shake of the dark head. _You really don't get it, do you Jase? Don't underestimate him. He'll figure it out. And God knows what it'll do to the Asimov once he does. It might send him over the edge. We haven't had that happen before - no chance to, really. I've no desire to be guinea pig. _

_And if you fail? If his obsession gets out of hand....?_ There was a delicate probing at the edges of Bester's mind. He smiled coldly and reflect the probe. 

_Then I do what I must._

Jason eyed him dubiously, unimpressed by the bravado. _Whatever. I'll leave it up to you. If he ends up on a leash, it'll be your fault._ He stood and stretched. _Bed?_ At Bester's somewhat startled look, he relented and smiled. _I made up the spare bed for you before I turned in for the night._

_You know me too well._

* * *

end chapter 4 


	5. Need

* * *

CHAPTER 5: NEED

* * *

Morning. Finally.  
  
Michael stretched under the covers, his clenched hands connecting solidly with the headboard, and groaned._ Well, this sucks. _Mornings always sucked, but this one more than most. His stomach felt like - well -  
  
Not to put too fine a point on it, like he'd been on an all-night drinking session and was paying the price for it now. Unfortunately, the unopened bottle of whiskey left by Bester was still on his nightstand. _All hail complete confusion.  
_  
Okay. Work.  
  
With another painful groan he rolled to a sitting position, blearily pushing the covers away and somehow trying to get his body mobile. He managed to get to his feet and padded barefoot to the bathroom, locking the door.  
  
_It's not paranoia when they're really out to get you._ He stepped out of his slacks, shivering as the cold air hit his skin and raised goosebumps all over. Strange that he should feel so uncomfortable undressing in his own room. Stranger still that he should lock his bathroom door, as if fearing for his virtue. As if some trace of the psi cop remained on his nightstand, watching him silently through the amber liquid. _Hell fire, that's what it is. Hell fire. So sayeth the preacher._  
  
He turned on the shower and sighed as the hot spray hit him, coating him in a liquid blanket of warmth. Steam licked at his still dry arms and pooling water tickled his toes. _God._ Maybe he should have gone with the cold shower instead....  
  
He closed his eyes and thought of calculus. Nope. Ivanova pissed? Definitely not! Uh...  
  
Blindly reaching for the shower gel, he poured some of the oily mixture into the palm of his right hand and rubbed his hands together, quickly working up a lather he transferred to his torso. _Damn Lyta for being off station. I bet she'd know what the hell was up with Bester last night..._ He rubbed the lather into his forearms, reaching up to massage tired shoulder and neck muscles. _Stephen would say I'm too tense._ His fingers tapped a tattoo over his collarbone. _Stephen'd be right.  
_  
Then again, Stephen hadn't had Bester turn up at his quarters last night and bring him alcohol. Stephen hadn't had his worst enemy rub his shoulders or - or - or - well, whatever Bester had done! Damn the psi cop. _Always one step ahead. Here, on Earth, on Mars..._  
  
That was a bad choice for a thought. Thoughts of Mars always brought thoughts of Lise, and thoughts of Lise always....  
  
His right hand automatically strayed downwards, stroking his hipbone - had he lost weight, recently? Felt like it - and moving on to his thigh. He braced himself against the wall with his left hand, always mindful of the logistics of his position. _I thought it was only soldiers who did everything from an attack/defence viewpoint?_ And what a thing to choreograph!  
  
Fingernails dug into the tense muscles on his inner thigh, scraping gently, slowly stroking upwards. The lather made the contact all that more pleasant, letting him rise to a fullness it normally took him quite a few minutes to reach before. That was the explanation, perhaps, for the twisting in his stomach. It wasn't quite an ache, and not quite a pain of any definable kind. It spiralled outwards, reverberating through him and causing him to shiver. Strange that pain would feel so good.  
  
Strange that it was present at all, though.  
  
Garibaldi's breathing quickened. It didn't feel like anything was wrong with him...  
  
_Need need need needneedneedneedneedneed......_ His brain chanted, locked in a litany that he couldn't stop. _Damnit._  
  
All Bester's fault. Somehow, this entire thing could be blamed on the psi cop, of this he was sure. Blame him for the pain, blame him for the confusion, blame him blame him --  
  
There was something deeply wrong with masturbating to such destructive thoughts, Garibaldi knew, however, at this moment he could have cared less. The hot water pelting him had ceased to exist, shoved far back into the recesses of his mind. The station could have exploded for all Garibaldi cared. The Shadows could have reappeared and danced the polka in a tutu, and he wouldn't have paid the slightest bit of attention. All that existed was himself, his hand, the coldness of the bathroom tiles and the something in his stomach that felt heavy as lead but scalded him whenever he looked too close. Whenever he thought too much on it. _Bester's fault. He did this, the sonofabitch wasn't satisfied with before and this time I'm going to kill him, I swear to God --_  
  
His grip tightened, the thumb rubbing at the underside ridge, his fingers becoming entangled in coarse curly hair. _He's gonna pay for what he did --_

Someone was making a soft keening sound, delicate, broken, almost a sigh. Someone, but not him. _Kill him - put a PPG blast right between his eyes and cut out his smug little smile-_  
  
Nearly there.... Past the pain in his belly, stabbing upwards through his lungs and pressing at his chest, he started to laugh. Deep, rich, throaty, his fingers tightened to the point of pain, ignoring the entire universe, safe in the knowledge that _Bester's gonna die, somehow_ nearly there -  
  
_Dead, in the ground, buried --_  
  
Almost, almost....  
  
_Dead, gone, away from me --_

And the world turned upside down.  
  
The next thing Garibaldi knew, he was kneeling on the floor of his shower, retching. His erection was long forgotten in favour of the pain in his belly. _Pain?!_  
  
Pain was too mild a word. In fact, had he stopped to think on it, Michael wasn't entirely sure that he could have described the feeling that gripped his stomach in a vise and suspended him upside down. Someone was trying to force hot pokers through various crevices in his body, and they weren't being received well.  
  
In fact, it was lucky that Garibaldi had decided to take his shower before he had breakfast. Somehow he didn't think that Captain Lochley would appreciate him throwing up all over her.  
  
Another spasm racked him and he groaned, bracing his elbows on the floor. The world had evidently decided to take up bungie jumping.

* * *

End Chapter V


	6. HalfTruths, Lies and Assumptions

* * *

CHAPTER 6: HALF-TRUTHS, LIES AND ASSUMPTIONS

* * *

"Mr Garibaldi. Take off your clothes." It was something that a fair portion of the women - and possibly men (not to mention other assorted genders) - on Babylon 5 had felt the urge to say at some point. Lilian Hobbes smiled - an evil, twisted smile by her standards - and gestured towards one of the examination tables.  
  
Garibaldi shivered at her expression but stripped down to his undershirt obligingly, trying to ignore the fact that Captain Lochley had chosen to remain in the room rather than wait outside as he would have preferred. "I'm fine - there's nothing wrong with me," he muttered, pulling his undershirt up over his head and wincing a little as the cold air of Medlab hit him. "I just tripped, is all."  
  
Lochley laughed sourly. "Tripped. Yeah, right. You passed out into my bowl of cereal, Mr Garibaldi, and I don't need to remind you how much fresh milk costs to be imported from Earth. You better have something very wrong with you." Her expression made it clear that if Garibaldi wasn't dying - he would be, very shortly indeed.  
  
Lilian prodded his chest. "Lay down."  
  
Groaning and fervently pleading for a repreive from whichever deity he'd managed to offend, Garibaldi relaxed back on the bed. The whistle-bleep of the monitors sounded normal enough to him.  
  
"That's not right."  
  
But then, what did he know.  
  
"What's not right?" Lochley leaned over him, bracing herself against his ribs as she peered over the readout. "You're right, that isn't right." She glared down at him. "Mr Garibaldi. What's this?"  
  
He, in turn, glared back up at her. "How would I know? I can't see the readout, now, can I!" Sometimes, he understood how Ivanova must have felt all too well.  
  
Lochley leaned back and yanked him up to face the readout. All of the readings were askew - but only by a small percentage. He frowned. "So? I haven't been as perfectly fit and wonderful as I normally am. Doesn't look like I'm having a heart attack, Doc." He moved to sit up.  
  
To his surprise, the apparently soft and yielding Dr Hobbes shoved him back onto the bed with no small measure of force. "I didn't say you could leave." Her voice was very soft. "That doesn't look like someone who's just under the weather, Mr Garibaldi. Would you like to discuss this with me?" She smiled gently.  
  
Garibaldi looked from her concerned face to Lochley's steely expression. What were his chances if he said no? He sighed. "It's all Bester's fault."  
  
"But - when could he have done this?" Lochley frowned at him. It was, for her, the lesser of two evils. She could either frown at Garibaldi or stare helplessly at PET scans and computer printouts. Somehow Garibaldi's annoyed features seemed a lot more appealing. Damn Garibaldi asking her to stay for this, anyway. Well, in for a penny....  
  
Garibaldi shrugged. "He had me for a long time. He could have implanted this at whatever time, and - set it on a timer, I guess. Make it look like it wasn't him." It was what he'd have done. The thought caused a deliciously cold shiver to run down his spine. Would he have done this? How did he know that other parts of him hadn't been tampered with? How did he know that this was the real Michael Garibaldi?  
  
Lilian was shaking her head. "We can't be certain. We can't take the chance if we're wrong."  
  
_Damn right,_ Garibaldi thought before he realised that she was talking about his brain chemistry results. "What else could it be?" He pointed to a random printout. "I mean that doesn't look right."  
  
"That's your urine sample results," Dr Hobbes said without a trace of mirth. Garibaldi blushed hotly. "But you're right, it doesn't. That's why we can't rule anything out. This -" she gestured towards the blood chemistry printout, "doesn't look like any 'brain-washing' I've ever seen."  
  
"All the more proof that it's Bester who did it, rather than just a random Psi Creep," Garibaldi insisted coldly, folding his arms across his chest. "He's not sloppy. He wouldn't leave any clues behind after he did whatever it is he needed to do."  
  
"Needed to do?" Lochley stood to pace. The rest of the Medlab staff had long since been ordered out of the small office. If it was one of the Corps' 'diabolical schemes', as Garibaldi had put it, they really didn't need extra people listening in. "That's the bit I don't get. What exactly, has he done to you? Apart from make you all --" She searched for the right word.  
  
"Delicate?" Lilian offered, suppressing a smile.  
  
Garibaldi growled. "Watch it. I'm not knocked up, just irritable."  
  
Lochley had to smile at this. "We're assuming you're not."  
  
"Hey --!"  
  
Lochley intervened before Garibaldi's bad mood would result in many painful deaths. "Okay. So we're assuming that Bester's behind this. What, exactly, is this?"  
  
That was the big question, really. As far as anyone knew, Garibaldi was feeling a bit under the weather. He saw no reason to share his nightmares or stomach problems with either his doctor or the Captain - nonetheless, they guessed anyway. Added two and two and ended up with - five?  
  
"You didn't see Bester the last time he was here, did you?" Lochley asked gently. Dr Hobbes withdrew to a discreet distance.  
  
Garibaldi didn't look at her. "Uh."  
  
"Wanna talk about it?" _Before you drink yourself into the ground?_ But he wasn't drinking, was he? The results were wrong for that. Nonetheless, it smacked of something similar.  
  
Garibaldi's mind was following a similar pattern of thought. _He did something to be - physically. And mentally too, but the psi creep did something to my brain chemistry. It feels like I'm about to throw up all the time.... he probably pumped me full of drugs, and now they're taking their toll._ Well, that was just tough. Bester had screwed him over, and he was just going to have to fix him, is all. Unless he wanted Garibaldi dropping dead at his feet. Which may have appealed to the psi cop in principle, but wouldn't really do much for his reputation.  
  
An evil smile surfaced. _Oh yes._ He knew exactly what to do. And talking was the last thing on his mind.

* * *

End Chapter VI


End file.
